Unexpected Child
by AliaAtreidesBr
Summary: When Selina Kyle, the Catwoman, is pregnant, she has to face many difficult decisions. Is motherhood possible for her? And could Batman be a father? How will Bruce deal with that? Life is hard on heroes... Now COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

Hello! Here's a story I've always wanted to write, and now finally found time and disposition to do it. I'm writing another story, one about Batman and Superman, but, since I was having problems with the next chapter, I decided to take some time to work in something else… and here we have it.

I must say this one here is nothing but a "what if", and, of course, has no connections to the Batman timeline. If I had to place it in the Batman Universe, it would take place after Jeph Loeb's "Hush", but before "Infinite Crises". To be honest, ever since "Hush" I haven't been very happy about Batman's stories…

Anyway, I apologize for any mistakes you may see in my text. English is a foreign language for me, and I ask you good readers to be patient. I appreciate any reviews, your opinion is always welcome.

To be finished with it, the disclaimer… I do not own Batman, Catwoman, or any other DC character. But I do love and respect them… 

Have fun!

* * *

**Two weeks**

It was a rainy night when Selina discovered. She would always remember that. She would always remember how she had walked from the window, thinking patrol in the rain wasn't a pleasant task. She would remember how she was already in her Catwoman outfit, except for the mask. And that the clock showed it was midnight already.

_Late_, she thought, _I'm already late._

In that night, she felt restless and uneasy. She didn't feel like going outside, in the rain. However, she also didn't feel like going into the bathroom, and checking the pregnancy test either. It was there, where she had left it. With an answer for her already. Yes, the minute had passed. Actually, almost half an hour had passed since she took the test… but she just couldn't put together enough courage to go see the result.

Her plan was to go outside like in any other night… stop criminals if she could, and, maybe, talk to _him_… He was there, in the night, over some roof top, probably watching the city and lost in thoughts. Whatever his thoughts were.

Selina knew she would not be able to talk. She would never tell him.

"_Even if it's positive…"_ Yes, even if it's positive. She would never be able to go to him and say… and say…

"_But maybe is a negative."_ Maybe. Maybe there was no reason to worry; maybe she was confused and restless for no good reason. Maybe it's negative. Just a negative. Just a late period, it had happened before. The psychological pressure, the physical effort… it could happen. It could.

But it hadn't.

She could _feel_ something different, all the strange symptoms, or signs, she didn't know how to call it. The nausea. The fatigue. And a strange, strange idea, a thought that had never before crossed her mind…

"_Could I be a mother…?"_

Selina didn't have an answer to that.

* * *

**Three weeks **

"Would you like to schedule an appointment, madam?"

The secretary sounded polite, that's something that would always stay on her memories. The secretary even sounded like she _cared_.

"Madam, are you alright?"

Selina was holding the phone with one hand, as her other arm was hugging her legs. She was seating on the floor, back against the wall. Except for the woman talking on the other side of the line, everything else was silent, just silence… even in Selina's mind.

Leslie Thompkins had given her the number, without asking for any explanation. Most likely thought it was for yet another pregnant teenager. Leslie was a humanist, but also believed in a woman's choice. Like Selina. She had thought this through. She had made a decision – a smart one. She had a life, a complicated life, and responsibilities, and problems with the law… She was the Catwoman. She loved that she was the Catwoman.

Why couldn't she _speak_, then? Why couldn't she just say yes to this secretary, and "schedule an appointment", and that would be the end of it… Right?

The end.

But there she was, seating on the floor, and her eyes were _wet_… why, why? She was just thinking nonsense, that's why. Imagining a doll house with a baby, and a mom, and a dad… Just nonsense. Just something that would never happen. Doll houses are not real, they are toys for rich little girls – she was never one. Her child would never have a father, would it? And how could she possibly be a mom? She never even _had_ a mom herself. Not really.

And yet, this one thing would always bother her: the baby's eyes would be blue like his? Or maybe green like hers… With dark hair, no doubt. Their child. _Their_ child.

"Madam, are you there?"

Selina hung up without a word.

* * *

**A month**

The scar would stay there forever, to remind her of the fear… cold, dreadful fear.

She was careless, true. No more than a bunch of kids, they were. Three boys. Attacking a girl. Jumped on the bigger guy. Kicked the second on the face. Third guy came from behind with a knife.

The blood came down profusely from her belly. Warm and red… scary. Knocked down the kid with the knife, hit him too hard. Heard the noise of a bone breaking. She hoped, just hoped it hadn't been his spine.

Leslie treated her. "Just a scratch", she said. But it bled so much… Leslie told her everything was going to be alright; secretly, Selina cried anyway. What if… _What if…?_, her mind wondered as she slept. Tired, so tired. Lying on a bed, in Leslie's clinic. Alone.

* * *

**Six weeks**

For the rest of her life Selina could remember it as it had happened yesterday. Clear details, like the keys she had in her hand. How she opened the door of her apartment, entered the dark living room, without even bothering to lock. She didn't turn the lights on, her feet were sore, so she just went to the sofa, seating on it while she let air escape heavily from her lungs…

"You shouldn't leave the door unlocked." He said.

And she jumped off the sofa, turning the lamp on.

He was by the window, his dark figure mixed with shadows, in that way only he was able to do. She couldn't see his eyes, concealed by the mask, but his lips, she noticed, were pressed in a thin line; this, she knew, was a sign he was not comfortable.

"Why should I care about the door? All the crazy ones use the window…"

There was a feeling of anger in her, she would recognize later. There was this bitterness, something she could feel in her chest, in her mouth… Her hands trembled slightly, she just made her best to not let him see. In a way, she was glad he was there; however, she was also furious, thinking he was so very wrong if he thought he could come and go as he pleased… as he wanted. This strange man in her living room, wearing a dark and scary outfit, this person she also knew to be Bruce Wayne, the millionaire that owned Wayne Enterprises. He was the Batman, a legendary vigilante… he was Bruce, a famous philanthropist… He was once her enemy, he was once her lover. In a way, she admired him. His strength, his independence, his intelligence, his character. He saved her many times. She did the same for him more than just one time. She thought he could do anything… except for this one thing.

He couldn't be a father.

"Heard that the Catwoman will be leaving Gotham", he spoke in an emotionless tone.

"Is that a fact? Oh, thanks for letting me know…" Selina gave him a sarcastic smile.

"Is it true?"

She couldn't stay. Just couldn't. Gotham was home… for the Catwoman. If she wanted to be _just _Selina Kyle, she had to do it somewhere else. And, of course, when you want to keep a secret from the Batman, the last place you should be is Gotham. Nothing happens in Gotham without his knowledge… as his visit there proved it again.

"Yes. Yes, it's true." She searched his face for reactions to that. A face almost completely covered by that mask, a face that showed only his mouth and chin, and even that under heavy shadows. All she got was a minor tension on his jaw, but was that something? "Catwoman will be gone… for a while."

"For how long?"

"For a _while_!"

Selina sighed, watching as he moved slightly forward. He was examining her, she knew, trying to read her. Trying to understand her from her reactions, body language, tone of voice… _But you can't just ask me, can you?_

"Where are you going to?" He now sounded more cautious, his voice was almost tender; he was concerned… or maybe suspicious.

"None of your business, sweetheart." She said it in the best playful tone she could fake.

He took this the same way he had taken all her answers: with an evaluative look. "I see."

"Sure you do… you see it even when you don't, isn't that right?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You tell _me_, detective…!"

Silence fell between them. _Why did I say that?_ It was never smart to provoke his detective's instincts.

"Selina", he called her. Again she faced him, eyes on that cold mask.

"Yes?"

What was happening under that mask? Under that whole outfit, inside that unique person? Selina used to think they were alike, Catwoman and Batman, two of a kind… creatures of the night, always looking for a thrill, running from their pasts. "That's why it can work", she said it to him many times. She thought they could be together, forever in that crazy spin… helping each other, dancing on rooftops.

A romantic idea, now she knew.

Now, there was something _real_ happening. Something she had never considered, and yet… something she was surprised to discover that she _wanted_. So, maybe it was true that Bruce was her twin soul; maybe it was true that they could be together. But that was _before_. That was for Catwoman and Batman, who would kiss on the top of buildings. It was not for Selina, soon to be a _mother_.

"If there's anything you need… anything at all…" He gave a step forward, his right hand moving to reach her arm…

"Don't." The word seemed to cut through him like an unexpected blade. She saw Batman retracting his hand. "I don't need anything. I want _nothing_."

Could he be a father? _Ever_?

She was sure he could love a child; he would always mean well… But he was a man in a mission, and that could never be avoided. That's why there were Robins, and Batgirls, and other teenagers following Batman around. He never asked them to join his cause, but his obsession, his heroism, his myth… it would always attract followers. He was so intense about this that no one around him could escape it.

And she didn't want that for her son or daughter.

"I don't need anything from you. Or from anybody." She waved her hand towards the window. "Now, if you could, please, leave me alone…"

He didn't leave immediately. For a few seconds, he just stood there. Looking at her, with his concealed eyes. She too allowed herself a last glance, silently saying goodbye. Keeping to her that image, of his tall and dark figure… and of the man behind it.

No more words were said. He left silently and swiftly, and he didn't look back. Neither did she.

It is what happens after a true and definitive farewell.

* * *

**Nine months**

She would never forget how scary and wonderful it was when she first saw him.

Her memories would be blurred by the confusion of the first moments, when he had just come out of her, in waves of pain and screams. He cried, the first thing about him was his cry, and then the doctor was saying "it's a boy", but she already knew. Ever since she felt him move inside her for the first time, she knew then it would be a boy.

And then he was not crying, not anymore, and she looked for him, "my baby, where's my baby…", she asked. One nurse, the one that had held her hand during labor, the one that was wiping her forehead now, the one that was smiling… the nurse said, "don't worry, they are just cleaning him…" "My baby…", she insisted, and the nurse smiled again, asking her to wait just a moment… and Selina could hear her son grumbling, whimpering, that small creature, that _life_… she just wanted to see him, to see if he existed, if he was for real, he, the one that had occupied all her thoughts for so many months.

He was carried to her, the smiling nurse whispered: "There he is, your son…!" _My son._ Tears came to her eyes, the tears she hadn't shown during the painful labor, the tears she hadn't dropped in her lonely nights, the tears that didn't come even when she left Gotham, or her life as Catwoman, or even _him_… Tears ran over her cheek, tears she couldn't explain, from feelings she couldn't define. Tears falling from her to her newborn child in her arms…

"He's beautiful", the nurse said. Selina touched the warm skin, her fingers feeling his chest, his face, holding his hand in hers. The baby was silent, quiet, trembling slightly… "You are cold…?", she asked him tenderly, and brought him closer to her body. "I'm here."

Together. They were together. He was no longer inside of her, but now she could see as he laid peaceful while she held him, she could touch him and embrace him, she could love him and… he would love her back. He was hers to care, to concern; her responsibility and no one else's. Just like she didn't belong to anyone else. She had always been alone. But her son, her baby, this child, he would never have to be alone… She would not leave him as she was left in her childhood. He wouldn't be abandoned. Afraid. Scared.

_I promise. I don't care what it takes; you will not be like me… or him._ _You will be happy._

"Oh, look", the nurse said, "he opened his eyes."

Selina smiled. He had blue eyes, like she knew he would.


	2. Chapter 2

**A year**

After a particularly difficult night, Bruce would remember, he returned to her apartment.

It was almost morning, the night already showing a pale grey light, and the moon could no longer be seen. He should return to the cave, but something was drawing him to that place… In that night, he had sent to jail a psycho killer, man that had killed over thirty women in seven different cities across the country. Batman had not been able to avoid the first two murders in Gotham City. Both happened there, in Selina's area. Or in the neighborhood that _was_ Selina's area.

He entered the empty apartment. No one lived there since she left; she had sold the place, and it was bought – Selina probably didn't even imagine it – by a company that was actually a subsidiary of Wayne Enterprises. Bruce wasn't sure of _why_ he had done this… why he wanted the apartment. Why he made sure that it was never rented. Why, every once in a while, he went there.

Before, in the first couple months, he half expected to find her there. Could Selina really go away? Leave Gotham? She had always returned… and her place would be there, waiting for her. Exactly as she left, with the furniture she abandoned, everything the same, everything… except for her. Because it had been almost a year, now. Almost a year, and she was still away. Finally, a few weeks ago, it hit him: she _wasn't_ coming back. She had left, and had no intention of returning.

The question was: _why_?

He couldn't avoid thinking it had something to do with himself. He would go to her empty apartment, and evoke memories of the last night they saw each other. Remember her words, their entire conversation, phrase by phrase. In his mind, he analyzed the possibilities, considering what would make the Catwoman leave Gotham City and, apparently, even her life as vigilant. However, Batman realized this analyzes wasn't an easy one… For as much as he wanted, he couldn't avoid to just think over and over about her last sentences… _"I don't need anything from you. Or from anybody_."And it could only lead to one conclusion…

She just couldn't stay around him anymore.

_My fault._

Three days ago Barbara gave him news. He had asked her to see if she could track Selina, and so she did. "She is in London", Barbara told him. Had been there for over ten months. Bought an apartment in Chelsea. Even opened an art gallery, eight months ago. No sign of any activity as Catwoman, not as vigilant, not as thief. Looked like she was, as Barbara said, "living an ordinary life". An _ordinary_ life. This just didn't sound like Selina. She was anything but ordinary, and no one loved the thrill of this "hero life" like her. No, this was strange. Wrong.

But there was that photograph…

Barbara had shown him a picture; it was taken a couple weeks ago, by a newspaper photographer, during an opening night in her gallery. When he saw her, it struck him: she had changed, somehow. He couldn't quite tell what, but she was different… still gorgeous – or maybe more than before; had she always been that beautiful, or all this time without seeing her had made him forget? -, still had that daring and vivid look, still had the charming smile, still… Selina. And yet, it was not the same woman, not exactly. This intrigued him, but it didn't bother him as much as another obvious conclusion he took from the picture:

_She was happy._

She looked happy, she looked fine. In a way, he resented that. She had left Gotham, and was actually doing so well. What probably meant she wouldn't be back. It meant she didn't _miss_ him. It was a disturbing thought for him, he realized.

However… he couldn't avoid feeling glad for her. He couldn't avoid looking the picture over and over, just looking at her smile for long periods of time.

Maybe there was no point in keeping the apartment empty. Keeping it as she left. She was _never_ coming back, he knew it. Why keep that apartment there for her…?

Batman took a deep breath. Morning had arrived, and it was time to go home. Maybe sleep for a while; he hadn't done that in the last forty hours, while searching for that murderer. Rest… if he could. Try not think about her. About her new life away from Gotham… away from him.

No, she didn't need the apartment anymore.

He did.

* * *

**Two years**

Selina would always wish to be able to forget about that day, although she never could… It was the day, after all, in which she finally realized what her life would be like forever.

The nightmare ended as night itself was giving space for another pale, late winter morning. The doctor rested a hand on her shoulder and said:

"He will be fine, Miss Kyle."

Selina felt she could finally breathe again.

All started when Marion, the nanny, called her at work; it wasn't even noon yet. Selina heard as the girl told her, in an anxious tone, that Thomas _still_ had a fever; yes, she had given him medicine; no, his temperature wasn't going down… and this had lasted the whole morning.

Selina left immediately, took a cab, and she was home in fifteen minutes… just to find her son sleeping restless, but still burning with fever, breathing heavily and, seemed to her, difficultly. At this point, Selina was half panicked already.

She called the pediatrician, he asked her to bring Thomas to the hospital. While calling for a taxi, she could feel her heart pounding, and the cold sweat on her hands. Selina couldn't believe how much fear she had in her, remembering nothing in her entire life as Catwoman that had frightened her this way. Her son on her arms, and feeling his skin hotter and hotter under her touch, she realized how much the situation caused her to feel… helpless.

The doctor examined him, and said, without a glimpse of doubt, that Thomas had pneumonia. "I'll not lie, it's serious", the man said. Her baby was hospitalized. They put tubes and needles inside him. He cried from pain and fear, while she kept telling him to be brave, telling him it would be okay. She felt awful. Felt like she was telling him a lie. It _was_ a lie, wasn't it? She _didn't_ know if things would be okay… she was scared. She wanted to cry too. Held his hand until he fell asleep. And in that hospital, watching Thomas' lungs struggle for air, Selina had the feeling they were the last people on Earth.

She never saw herself doing it, as it only hit her conscious when it was done. Selina had her cell phone on her ear, and it was calling… _Nonsense_, she thought to herself. _Useless_, her mind insisted.What was the point, anyway? Would he even pick up the phone? Almost nine o'clock in Gotham, almost time for him to go out on patrol. He would never answer it. Too late. Maybe Alfred would answer it? Maybe… And then… what? What? Should she leave a message? Saying what? "Please, ask Bruce to call me, it's an emergency… our son could be dieing."

Would he answer _that_?

"Hello."

It was him.

"Hello?"

His _voice_. He was there; she could hear him. Just a word of distance. She could respond him, she could speak to him. She could also feel her mouth dry, her hands trembling. She could _tell_ him what she wanted to tell, and say…

"Who's there?", he asked, and she recognize he was no longer using his more casual tone, but the deep, husky tone she had come to love, the one that evoked memories… memories of their moments together, memory of the way he whispered her name before touching her skin, memory of the sounds of their love-making, or even the memory of that low sound in the back of his throat, the slight sign of pleasure he allowed himself to manifest when they kissed for the first time…

"Selina?"

She smiled. So, he knew.

_Our baby is sick_, that's how it would start. It would be a long conversation. He would ask what she was talking about, and she would tell him about their son. Explain to him why she left, and why the secret. He would understand, of course. He would be _happy_. Never disappointed or sad. But he would worry, because Thomas was sick. He would come even before she could ask; they would be together before the night ended. She would be able to rest her head on his chest as he held her tightly. _Forgive me_, she would say; _there's nothing to forgive_, that would be his answer.

And Thomas would be fine, he would be fine in the morning, so his dad could hug him for a whole hour, and his mom would watch from a distance, thinking her son looked so much like his father.

_"Stupid!"_ She silently bit her lower lip, cursing herself for this act of desperation. _"What am I doing?"_

"Selina, _talk_ to me…", he kindly asked.

_"Talk…"_ And say what? Throw all that on him, tell him about the choice she made? Obligate him to choose too…?

"I… I'm sorry, Bruce…"

"What's wrong?"

He sounded preoccupied. He was asking with every intention of helping her, she could feel. However, what could he be thinking this was about? Probably thinking she was having trouble with criminals, maybe with one of her old enemies… How could he imagine it was all about a child… their child?

_Her _child.

"Nothing is wrong… really. I'm sorry, I just… I'm having a bad day, that's all."

"Please, Selina, don't hang up…"

She did.

Went back to sit by her son's bed, and held his hand again. They had each other, there was no one else; and that was the way things would be.

* * *

"I should go to London."

"Then go."

The Oracle – Barbara Gordon -, was staring at him from the computer screen, and her expression was emotionless, almost like she was bored.

"I suppose you can handle things around here for a couple days."

"No problem… I'll ask Nightwing to give us a hand."

"Do you think he will be avaible?"

Barbara sighed:

"I don't know, Bruce…" She gave him a severe look. "We can _handle_ it, okay? We've done it before, you know that. If you're having second thoughts…"

"I'm just considering the possibilities." He was seating on his chair in the cave, chin supported by one hand, dressed in his Batman uniform. He hadn't left for patrol, however; could either do that, or call Wayne Enterprises and tell his people to prepare his private jet. Should Batman protect Gotham or should Bruce Wayne go to London? "She doesn't _want _me there."

"Are you kidding?" Barbara's eyes widened slightly, a sign of her disbelief. "If she didn't want you there, why did she call?"

"Many reasons. In a moment of strong emotions, one can do the most unexpected things."

"Yeah… tell me about it, traumatized-child-dressed-as-giant-bat…"

"I don't remember you _complaining_ when you joined our lines", his answer came with a disapproval groan.

But Barbara couldn't avoid a smile:

"It was precisely what seduced me."

She watched as he remained in silence, eyes staring the cave wall, his lips pressed in a thin and tense line. The Oracle thought this needed an intervention:

"Listen, Bruce, if you are hoping or expecting her to directly _ask_ for your help… well, you might wait for the rest of your life. You know the Catwoman would never do that. She has this whole… independence issue… you know, just like you…?"

"I know."

"This could be a perfect opportunity for you to settle things…"

"It wouldn't."

"Why…?"

"She would hate me, Barbara. I would just disrupt her life… she has a good life, doesn't she? An ordinary life… and I'm anything but ordinary."

"Neither is Selina, Bruce. Come on, she _called_…"

"She called _Bruce Wayne_, Barbara." He breathed deeply. "She didn't call Batman."

"You don't know that."

"I do."

She weaved her head in disbelief; how could a human being end up this complicated? There were times when she could do nothing but feel sorry for him.

"So what, Bruce…?"

"So, I must go on patrol."

"You're not serious."

He didn't answer that, as he was now adjusting his utility belt.

"Do you _really_ think it would make a difference…?"

"_Yes_!" His voice was so harsh and cold that scared her. "I _do_ think it makes a difference. _This is my life, _Barbara! I'm Batman, and I can't afford to be Bruce Wayne all of the suddenly, and leave all this like it's just a _game_…"

"Tell me you are not doing this because you resent her for leaving her vigilante life."

"It's not about that."

"So, you don't resent her?"

"This conversation is over, Barbara."

Batman walked to his car, turning on the loud machine; he settled the autopilot, and left the cave at full speed. The radio was on the police frequency, and there was no lack of work: a fire in downtown, hostage situation in the suburbs, and it seemed that a prisoner had escaped Arkham Asylum. _"Let's just hope is not the Joker…"_, he thought to himself. And spoke:

"Oracle, we have a fugitive from Arkham; get me the details, will you? I'm taking care of a hostage situation…"

"You can be a real bastard, sometimes." He heard the bitterness in her voice. "You know that, don't you?"

"I do. It's part of the…"

"… job. Yes, you keep saying that."

An uncomfortable silence hanged between them for a few seconds. Finally, he said:

"The fugitive… can you…?"

"Yes, I can." She sighed. "Oh, I just hope it's not the Joker…"

Alone in his car, he smiled.

"Thank you, Barbara."

"You're welcome, Bru… I mean, Batman."

* * *

**Three years**

Thomas would never remember that morning. To him, it was just another ordinary morning, like the ones he was used to.

Left his bed and went to his mom's bedroom. She was asleep. He went to the living room, and found his plastic soldiers lying on the carpet. Played for a bit, but, soon enough, he was hungry. Looked for mom, she was in the bathroom; called her, and she came almost immediately.

"Sorry, baby, I didn't know you were awake…" She lifted him on her arms, and kissed his forehead. "Are you hungry?"

He nodded: "Yeah…"

"I'll make you breakfast." Hugged him tight, put him down. He followed her to the kitchen, and watched as his mother opened the fridge. She gave him milk and told him to wait while she was making toasts.

Thomas went to the sofa in the living room, jumping on it. He spilt milk all over himself. Didn't like how his wet shirt was sticky, adhering to his chest, so he took the shirt off. Sat on the floor and turned the television on. Pushed the buttons in the remote control until he found the cartoons.

Mom called him to eat breakfast. She asked where his shirt was, he told her it was wet. She took a deep breath: "Thomas…" He smiled, and she smiled back. Her fingers cleaned the milk on his face: "You had a moustache", she kissed his cheek.

He was eating and mom went to the front door, and came back with the newspaper. She played with his hair while reading.

Thomas was a just a few months older than two, but he could recognize when his mother was nervous. Suddenly, without an explanation, she was looking upset, saying "no, oh no…", while reading the newspaper. She even threw it on the floor. "God…", mom said. Thomas didn't know for sure what a God was, except it was a word his mother used when she was not happy. "Mom…", he said.

"I'm sorry, baby." She grabbed him and put him on her lap, pulling him close. "I love you, okay?"

"Okay." His mother would always say "I love you", all the time. Sometimes, when she did, he knew it was because she didn't want him to be scared.

Thomas didn't know, not yet, that sometimes she did it because _she_ was scared.

* * *

He would always be sorry for this: it wasn't a happy moment when he discovered that he was father.

Bruce Wayne was waiting. No problem, he was used to wait. He was patient.

Across the street, he could see the building where she lived. Where she had lived for almost three years. He was watching the main entrance, hoping to have a glimpse of her before she left to work. Maybe ask her to have breakfast with him, if she had time. Or invite her to lunch. To be honest, he couldn't wait until dinner.

He was used to wait. He was. But they had waited for almost three years already… it was more than enough.

Bruce wouldn't mind if he had to wait for her all day… if he just could see her for a second now. Since he got to London, he couldn't think about anything else but Selina. He had dreamed about her, sleeping or awake. Pictured her in his mind, wondering what those three years had done to her. What would Selina Kyle be like, now that she was no longer Catwoman.

He hoped she wouldn't hate him for stalking her.

It was almost eight when she finally left the building.

Gorgeous as always, that's what he first noticed. He gave a step forward, with every intention of crossing the street.

But she wasn't alone.

When he saw the boy, the young child holding her hand, he was overwhelmed by surprise. Yes, surprise, but that was not the only reason; it was also because, in a fraction of second, all his doubts were gone. His eyes on Selina and her child – it _was _her child, he was sure -, he finally understood; the three years she was away, the way she left Gotham, even the harsh words she had spoken to him… all made sense.

Even more because, he knew, this child was also his.

* * *

Selina had barely entered the gallery, but Louise, her young secretary, approached her with a wide and anxious smile:

"You have an admirer…!"

She sighed: "You don't say…"

Her day had been ruined when she read in a silly social column about Bruce Wayne coming to London. He arrived the day before, apparently coming for business meetings. She knew better; nothing in Wayne Enterprises would bring him to London, or, better saying, would take him out of Gotham. She was sure he knew she was in London, probably knew it for a while… What had brought him there, she didn't know. She just hoped he would stay away, and respect the distance she put between them; but she knew him better than that.

The roses were already in a vase, placed over her desk in the office. _"Roses, Bruce…? That's so corny…" _But beautiful red roses, no doubt about it. She looked for a card; instead, she found a small wooden box, carved in Egyptian style, and that had a golden lock. There was a key next to it, and she used it to open the box. She was not surprise to found a three inch ivory statue of a cat; it had emerald eyes.

"Oh, that's beautiful!" Louise was looking over her shoulder.

"Yes, it is."

It was more than just beautiful, Selina knew; it was a millionaire gift. An Egyptian antique, that couldn't be acquired for less than a few hundred thousand dollars. She knew it. She tried to steal it once.

_He _had stopped her, of course.

Inside the box, there was also a small card. She recognized the handwriting:

_"Breakfast, lunch, dinner… your choice. Call me anytime. 'B.'"_

The number was written on the other side.

"Who's 'B.' ?"

"No one." Selina ripped the card in one movement, and told Louise to get rid of the flowers; "I'm allergic", she said as the girl stared at her with shocked eyes.

Anyway, she kept the cat.

* * *

He could see him through the fence, running around the small park of the kinder garden school.

Bruce Wayne didn't know what to do.

There was this child, and was his son.

He had his eyes, and had his hair; he smiled like Bruce did… when he smiled, that is. Tall for his age, Bruce thought. Handsome kid.

_My son._

Never thought of himself as a father, not really. He knew he had been a parental figure more than once, for Dick, Jason, Tim… but not actually a _father_. Those boys already had parents, even if they were dead or lost parents. Not to mention, they were teenagers when he met them…

He never thought of himself as a true father. Less of all, the father of a small child.

Yes, but there he was. Watching that little boy. _His_ little boy.

_Selina… _All this time, then, she was alone. She was raising their son. She was… a mom. Catwoman, a _mother_. Bruce would have never guessed, even though all now looked so obvious. Three years he had let pass, three years of silence, three years she had been on her own, three years he missed from his son's life. _Three years!_

What would feel like, he wondered, to be called _dad_?

Or, for that matter, how does it feel when you embrace your child, or when he smiles at you, or when you put him in bed…? Or when he cries… from pain or sadness…?

Just watching the boy as he played, ran, spoke, just doing that, Bruce felt so many… awkward feelings. He realized he was so _proud_, and unexplainably happy, and eager to take the boy in his arms and say: _that's my son_. He wanted to tell his child about himself, he wanted that boy to know him – _love_ him. Right now, Bruce couldn't take his eyes from the kid, his chest heavy with an oppressive feeling… that he might lose him from sight, that he might never see the boy again.

And that scared him.

No doubt he was coming to think of the kid as he _belonged _to him somehow. Bruce couldn't avoid all the pictures in his mind… Taking the boy to Gotham, take him to Wayne Manor, watch as he would run upstairs, as he would enter his new room (there would be a room for him, with all the toys he could buy, and the nicest furniture…), and Bruce would show him the house, telling him stories about the Wayne family, about his _own _father… And the others would meet him. Alfred. Tim. Barbara. Dick. Everybody. They would agree, of course, that the boy looked so much like his father…

_"No"_, Bruce realized, _"this will not happen."_

Selina left Gotham, and she never told him about her pregnancy or about their son. _She didn't want him to know._

But now he knew.

And would never forget.

* * *

Selina walked inside the lobby of her building, carrying Thomas in her arms. At some point during their two blocks walk from school, he claimed he was tired; she didn't mind carrying him, she actually liked it… but he was getting bigger every day. Pretty soon she wouldn't be able to walk around with him in her arms, and it would be a sad day for both when it happens.

She almost dropped Thomas when saw that Bruce was there, looking anything but surprised.

"How did you…?"

It was a stupid question, she realized. He would enter any place he wanted, either because he was the famous millionaire Bruce Wayne, either because no doors, or locks, or fences, could keep the Batman outside.

"Your gentle neighbor, Mrs. Tanner, let me in." Selina noticed how his eyes went from her to Thomas, his features softening as he examined the child in her arms. He even let an almost imperceptible smile reach his lips. "She says 'hello', by the way."

_"He knows!"_ Since when? How?

"Mrs. Tanner is senile", she snapped. _"What now?"_ She had pictured this moment a number of times, and it was never like that.

"Will you invite me to your place?" He finally took his eyes from Thomas, and turned that very persuasive look to her.

"I… I don't think it's a good idea."

"Please." To Selina's surprise, Bruce took a step forward, getting close to her. He reached for her hand. "We have lots to talk about, don't you think?"

Thomas shifted on her arms, turning to look at this unknown man that was touching his mother. "Mom…"

"It's okay, baby." But it wasn't. Her heart was jumping inside her chest, and she didn't know what to do. "_He knows, he knows…"_, it was the only thought her mind seemed to allow.

"We have to talk, Selina; sooner or later." The way he spoke reminded her of the old days, reminded her the man standing in front of her was no ordinary man; he was a man that usually had things going _his_ way, and probably the most persistent being walking this Earth.

Tell him to go away and forget about it just wouldn't do.

"Fine." She surrendered to his plea, moving Thomas from one arm to another.

"Looks like he is heavy… Are you tired?"

"I can manage."

"I'm sure, but…" Bruce hesitated for a few seconds before proceeding. "I can carry him, if you like."

"No, not at all…" As she denied firmly, Thomas interrupted her:

"Okay." The boy had his arms reaching for Bruce. "Pick me!"

Selina was speechless, shocked that her son, usually suspicious of strangers, could be so… so… _friendly_.

_"Of all people, Thomas, did you have to choose him?"_

However, the small disappointment didn't last for long. As she saw Bruce smiling tenderly, Selina too felt that there was something _right_ about all that, anyway. At least once he would be able to do this simple thing… carry his son.

"Come here, big guy", he said while lifting the boy from Selina's arms. He was not clumsy, or reluctant; actually, Thomas adjusted easily and comfortably, wrapping his arms around Bruce's neck, his head resting over his father's shoulder. Bruce supported the boy's weight on his forearm, and the other hand stroke gently Thomas' hair. "I got you, kid…"

"Thomas", the boy said.

"What was that?" All color had left Bruce's features.

"Thomas", his face was almost entirely hidden on the curve of Bruce's neck, "my name is Thomas…"

For a moment, Selina feared some kind of reaction from Bruce. However, he just stood where he was, his eyes staring the floor, his fingers caressing lightly the child's back. She had always wondered if he would be insulted, or angry that she had given, in secret, his father's name to her son; to _their_ son. But now, watching Bruce taking a deep breath, and seeing the soft look he had for her… no, there was nothing to fear.

"I'm glad I met you, Thomas…"

It was Selina who couldn't avoid a smile:

_"He _could_ be a good at this… Who would have guessed? Bruce Wayne, a natural father."_

* * *

The nanny took Thomas for a walk in the park.

And Selina opened a bottle of wine.

Bruce was by the window, still watching his son through the glass; the boy was crossing the street, the nanny holding his hand, while Thomas jumped and pulled, trying to get free of the woman's grasp. _"Restless and defiant… Just like his mother." _This thought amused him; he had been searching his son's features for similarities, and felt somewhat proud to see that the child had so much of himself. In physical appearance, that was. His temper… Just a few moments around him were enough to see that Thomas had taken a lot from Selina. Independent, self-confident, attentive. All those things Batman had come to admire in the Catwoman… in Selina Kyle.

"He is really something, isn't he?" It was Selina approaching quietly, and now was also looking through the window.

"He is perfect." An honest answer.

"You know?" She spoke calmly and in a kind tone. "He's doing great. _We both_ are… doing just great…"

"I can see that."

She had an evaluative expression, and took those words in silence. He continued:

"That night, about a year ago… when you called me, remember?" Selina confirmed nodding her head. "Something happened to him, right?"

"Always the detective…" She was smiling, but her tone was bitter.

"Am I right?"

Again she nodded.

"I thought so." He looked through the window again, but Thomas and his nanny were no where to be seen. "You were going to tell me."

"I _considered_ it", Selina corrected him.

"You _considered_…"

"He was sick, okay?" Now she sounded slightly irritated. "I panicked."

Bruce couldn't avoid the memory of that night; he couldn't avoid the thought that he had wasted an opportunity… He too _considered_ another option, back then. He could have come to London, but, instead, he went on patrol. Saved lives that night, if he recalled well. And yet, his son was sick. Selina was alone. In panic.

"Why are you here, Bruce?" She suddenly asked, walking away from the window and putting more distance between them. "I mean, why did you come to London?"

_Now._ She meant to ask him why he had come to London _now_, of all times; he knew that.

"Business."

"I see… Bruce Wayne's business or _Batman's_ business…?"

The deep breath he took was all the answer Selina needed. But he explained, anyway:

"There was this rumor that two of Falcone's men were in London, handling an old problem."

Carmine Falcone men? Selina shivered, the name bringing unpleasant memories. Falcone was a mob boss, the most powerful in Gotham. In the past, Catwoman had provoked and disturbed in many ways this Carmine Falcone, even giving him a scar on his face, so he would remember the Catwoman forever… Falcone hated her, and put a reward on her head – fortunately, he didn't know Selina was the Catwoman. When she left Gotham, she also left all behind her, but did the Falcone family still wanted…

"Do you think…"

"No. It had nothing to do with you. They were here for a man that testified in Falcone's trial." He left the window and walked to stand in front of her. "I took care of it last night. They will be send to Gotham's police..."

"You know I don't care about this. Not anymore."

"I know." Moving too fast for her to react, he placed both hands on her arms, a gentle but firm grasp. "Look… I came because I thought they were going after you…!"

"You could have just called…" She forced a smile, but Bruce remained serious.

"This is not funny, Selina", he pressed his fingers around her arms, and pulled her closer; "I was worried about you...!"

He embraced her, a strong and resolute hug, that left her speechless and surprised.

"Bruce…"

"I didn't know; not until today. I swear, if I knew about Thomas…"

"What? If you knew about him… what would you do?" She broke free of his arms, pushing him away. Her eyes were sparkling emeralds, full of resentment. "What would you have done? What will you do… now?"

Selina was not raising her voice, but her tone was cold and sharp: "What are you planning, Bruce? Do you think you will be a _dad_ now?"

"I am. Like it or not, I _am _his father."

"To be honest, I _don't_ like it." She noticed that the words affected him, as he slightly pressed his lips together. _"I know it hurts, Bruce; but it's the truth."_ There were things more important than him, now. Things more important than their relationship. "This will never work, and you know it."

He said nothing, like she knew he wouldn't. Bruce was not one of many words, less of all when he couldn't find reasonable arguments to disagree.

"You _know_ why I never told you. You know it would be better if you had never found out…"

"No." The husky tone of the answer was enough to show he was in defensive state. "Don't say that… ever."

Selina stared at him for a few moments. She was almost… _sorry_, almost regretting her words.

"You know what I mean." She made an effort to sound gentler. "It will just be harder on us, now."

"He _is_ my son, Selina. He is mine as much as he is yours."

"It's not you, Bruce!" She turned, giving him just her back to look at. "It's the _other_ you that I worry about…"

"Batman?" He sighed. "There are ways around this…"

"No, there is _no way_ around Batman. Trust me, I can tell." She looked over her shoulder, and saw how he stared at her with an earnest expression. "It's too risky! We would always fear that one of those crazies from Gotham would discover… someone like the Joker…"

Bruce knew what she meant. He too had considered that. Had feared that. The last thing he wanted was that Thomas ended like… like Jason, or Barbara, both attacked by the Joker, one dead, the other forever condemned to a wheel chair. He didn't want his son kidnapped, tortured, afraid. And all only because his father once entered this crusade, insane crusade…

"You are right. You are. But, like you, I can make a choice too. Like you are no longer Catwoman, maybe it is time for Batman…"

"Don't say that. Don't say something you don't really mean."

"Believe me when I say that there's nothing I wouldn't do for him… and for you."

A sad smile softened her features: "I believe you." The smile left, but the sadness remained. "But it's not your choice, not really. It's bigger than you, Bruce. Those wackos in Gotham wouldn't give up on Batman just because you decided to quit."

"I don't have to stay in Gotham… Batman will not last forever, it will end someday!"

"_Someday_, not tomorrow. Maybe the day will come; maybe you will figure a way out… someday. Maybe you could move to London, and be the millionaire business man people think you are… and your mind will not be wondering about what is happening in the streets of Gotham, and you will not be receiving calls from Superman, or the Oracle, or Wonder Woman…"

"This day _will_ come."

"It will. But it's not today, and it won't be tomorrow either."

He knew she was right.

"I'm sorry, Bruce. I really am. I never thought my son would need a father, but I wish he could have one." She couldn't bare the shaken look on his face. "_You. _I whish he could have _you_."

For a moment, she felt like crying. Selina didn't regret what she had just said or done, but she recognized it was a harsh thing to do, almost mean. Sure, she couldn't risk her son… but she felt terrible for the way she had hurt Bruce. _"That's why you were never supposed to know…"_

"Selina…", he called, as he was again looking through the window.

"Yes?"

"Do you think… I could at least say goodbye to him? Just… the two of us?"

"Sure. But you must promise…"

"What?"

"Promise me you will not hate me forever."

"Please…" He glanced at her. "I couldn't hate you even if my life depended on it…"

* * *

It was Thomas' first memory. The most clear memory from his first years of life. He would remember the park, the trees without leaves, the cold wind – it was winter -, and then, the outline of that man against the light, standing in front of him.

His father. He knew it was father. He just _knew_. There was something in that man, the way he looked at him, the way he looked at his mother… Or how he lifted him from the ground, and Thomas felt he could almost fly… and then strong arms wrapping around his small body, the warmth that came from that man, the feeling of protection, the love he felt when lips touched lightly his forehead. It was his father.

They seated on a bench, he on his father's lap, still being hugged… it was like the man just couldn't let go of him, and Thomas knew why: he was going away. That's why he caressed his head with such emotion, fingers passing through the dark locks that were so much like his father's; that's why Thomas could hear his father's heart pounding with such fury against the chest; that's why those hands trembled, hands the man used to hold Thomas' small fingers, the son's hands that were so much like the father's…

Thomas could listen as the man spoke, that solemn tone that could almost, but not quite, hide the emotion and tears he was making his best to conceal. The boy stood there, quietly, head on his father's chest, absorbing the words of that man. He spoke about himself, about how he was always trying to do good, always trying to do good things… but that, sometimes, to be able to do good things, you had to give up, had to _sacrifice_ other things. The man said he didn't know, not anymore, if he was doing the _right_ thing. He said he only wished to be there, with Thomas and his mom, but that wasn't possible. "Not yet", he said. "Someday", he promised.

He said he was sorry. He said it many times. He asked Thomas to forgive him. He also asked him to, please, don't forget him. He said he would take care of them, of Thomas and mom, even though it would look like he wasn't around. But he was. He would always be around, watching from a distance. "Because", said his father, "I'll think of you every moment."

When he told Thomas he had to go, the child cried. His father held him and consoled him, and kept the boy on his arms until he fell asleep. That man, his father, whose features Thomas wouldn't be able to recall, but whose presence the boy would feel for the rest of his life.


	3. Chapter 3

Hello. Well, I finally finished this chapter… It's a big chapter, and add to that the fact I have been quite busy in the last couple weeks… and you have all the delay to publish.

This was supposed to be the last chapter… However, I think I'll write another one, truly the last, which will be more like an epilogue. I still think, however, that this particular story here could have been finished in any of the previous chapters, including this one. I like the story to be seen like that, as various tales about Selina and Bruce in this particular situation.

Anyway, about this chapter… I guess this one really deserves the "M" rated. It has insinuation of sex, violence, adult themes… Nothing too hard core, I think, but "M" is the right rate, I think. Better safe than sorry, isn't that what they say?

Just one last detail… Any time football is mentioned here, keep in mind that I'm talking about soccer, okay? I guess that, in England, people call football the sport Americans call soccer. I'm neither American or British, but Thomas lives in England, so I thought it would be more appropriated… if I'm wrong, I'm sorry, I apologize.

I hope you can enjoy this chapter, even though it is different in style from the two chapters before. Please, review; the feedback is always useful… and we still have a chapter to go.

Thank you for reading.

* * *

**Ten years**

"Thomas, let's go! We're going to be late!"

"I'm _going_!"

The boy closed the newspaper, and left it over the coffee table. He didn't have the habit of reading that – _boring_, he thought – paper, not usually, but the news on that one had caught his attention. The headlines of the "International" section showed words that had made his heart jump, while he felt a cold sensation in his stomach: **Batman Dead!**, said the title. Under that: _"Two nights ago, Gotham's vigilant saved thousands from terrorist's bomb, but couldn't save himself."_ Thomas read every bit of information the paper had, hoping to see somewhere that there was hope still… but it seemed everybody was counting Batman as dead. Even the Commissioner, a woman named Renee Montoya, said there was no way Batman could have escaped; according to her, they even found his _last remains_. And even nine years old Thomas knew this were bad news.

Thomas was not particularly interested in super heroes, except for Batman. After all, he was from Gotham City, his mother's home town, and he wasn't _exactly_ a superhero… He had no superpowers. He was just… a man. Like everybody else. Thomas was fascinated by him, and was constantly asking her mother if she had _seen_ Batman when she lived in Gotham, and what was he like, and had she ever met someone that was saved by him…? His mother would smile, but never told him anything. She said Batman was more like a legend, and it was better if you just think of him as a make up thing.

Thomas stopped asking, but he still thought about it a lot.

Now, the papers were saying he was dead; mom had said nothing, but Thomas wasn't sure if she had read, or if she _cared_ anyway. She had been strange in the last days, worried, spending most of the time staring at the walls… She hadn't even gone to work today. He got home after school, and found her walking around the apartment, nervously looking for her earrings, or something. Then, she suddenly told him to take a bath and dress nicely, because they were going somewhere. _"Right now, Thomas!'_, she told him in that tone of voice that he didn't like, not at all, but he thought it was better do what she said, since she looked kind of edgy, and he was feeling a little sorry for her; mom had almost no friends, and he didn't remember the last time she had a boyfriend, what meant she had no one to talk to when she felt sad or lonely. Well, no one except for himself, but Thomas knew there were things mothers wouldn't talk about with sons…

Batman _dead_? How could that be? Ralph, a stupid kid from Thomas' school – he was a big and fat guy, that usually spent lunch time pushing younger boys until they cried – told his dad was always saying Batman was nothing more than a crazy man in an ugly outfit. According to Ralph's dad, Batman was psycho-something, and should be in jail. Thomas got really mad with his fat colleague – he laughed when Thomas said Batman was just as much of a hero as Superman, maybe even more -, so mad he even punched his fat belly… it was a bad thing to do, Thomas knew now, and he knew it then, but he just couldn't help it. The principal called mom, and Thomas suffered a dire punishment: had to leave the school's football team.

And now, Batman was dead. Batman, of all superheroes!

"Thomas, the taxi is here! Let's…"

"I'm here!"

"Finally…!" She looked irritated, at first, but examined him for a few seconds, and smiled with satisfaction. "You look great, baby… loved the shirt."

"Mom…!"

"You are so handsome…" She kissed him lightly on his left cheek, and, although hiding it from his mother, Thomas smiled too. He had chosen to wear a shirt his mother gave him a few weeks ago, and he knew she would like that.

They entered the taxi, and his mother told the driver they were going to the airport. Thomas wasn't expecting that:

"Why are we going to the airport?"

"We are picking up a friend."

"Yours?"

"Yes, baby, mine."

"What friend?"

"You are a _curious_ little boy, aren't you?"

"I'm not a little boy." Thomas was slightly upset to see that the driver had overheard the conversation, and even had let escape a brief laugh. "And you have no friends…"

She sighed, and Thomas regretted his last words. It was not nice when you point out to someone how lonely the person is, even if it's true. Even more because it was not mom's fault. She was a nice person, and a really _cool_ mom. Maybe the best. Thomas knew his mother was different from other moms; she was always looking for fun things to do, and was always taking him to trips, and parks, and zoos. Every night they would do something together, like watch a movie, or go for a walk around the block, or even play games. Lately, they would play chess. She was not very good in it, true – Thomas had lost his last match a few days before his eighth birthday, and then, never again; but the point is, she was always _trying_. And that's the most important thing, right?

"It's an old friend, actually." Now she was looking outside the window, but clearly not paying any attention to the streets. "From Gotham."

"Holly?" Thomas asked hesitantly. He didn't want to be rude again.

"No, honey, not Holly. Someone else."

A friend from _Gotham_… Thomas pressed his lips together, restraining his excitement. Maybe this person would have news about Batman, maybe this friend could tell something… something the British papers didn't know. Details, maybe, that could give him hopes again. Batman wasn't dead, he couldn't be. From what Thomas knew, Batman was smart and resourceful – the boy loved the word resourceful -, and no stupid bomb would kill him. Batman probably knew more about bombs than anyone in the world. How could he die from that?

"And how was school today?" Mother was trying to make conversation. She would always ask about school, she really cared, but today… well, she just looked like she was somewhere else, distracted, aloof.

"Fine…" He answered anyway. After that awful commentary about mom not having any friends, Thomas would do anything to look more cooperative.

"Fine? Just fine? That's a very short answer…" She was a smart mom. Always knew when he didn't want to talk about things, and always knew how to take answers out of him: playing with his hair, smiling kindly, holding his hand.

"It was nothing, really."

She pulled him closer, her arm around him, letting his head rest on her shoulder. "Yeah… 'Nothing' is hard, sometimes."

"It's just…" He hesitated.

"What?"

"This stupid football game on Saturday…"

"Stupid? Well, who would say…? I thought you loved football…!"

Thomas pressed his lips together, a characteristic gesture that usually meant he was upset.

"What about this football game, baby?"

"It's stupid… it's called the 'father's game', or something… and you should go with your father… or older brother, or a relative." Sliding on the bench, Thomas reached the window, his forehead touching the glass as he looked outside. "So stupid. You have to _take_ someone, if you want to play."

What sometimes would bother Thomas was not the fact that he didn't have a father; a father, he had concluded long ago, was a very much overestimated thing. He knew many fathers, since most of his friends had one. There were cool fathers, but there were also fathers that screamed, fathers that would always look angry, fathers that only worked, fathers that were away, even fathers that were dead. And most of the cool things fathers could do, well, a mother could do too. Yes, it was true that his mom didn't play football, but she would do almost everything else. For all that, Thomas rarely would care about the "father issue". Once or twice he had asked mom about this father thing, and she just said she didn't know where he was, or what he was doing. And she also told him that his dad was a good man, who cared about them, but he couldn't stay around. He was like a soldier, mom said. And Thomas thought this was a good enough explanation.

Of course, there was also that thing Thomas remembered… he had this memories, memories about this guy that visited long ago. It was all blurred, but he knew it _had_ happened. There was a man that talked to him, that carried him… He _could_ be his dad. Actually, Thomas was positive he was; however, he never asked his mom about it… what if she said something like that never happened?

Thomas just didn't want to hear that.

It would be better, Thomas always thought, if he at least had any other relative. Maybe an uncle, or cousin, or grandfather. In a way, it was so scary that there were only he and mom in the family…! What if something happened to mom? What would happen to him? Would he go to an orphanage? A foster home? Would this invisible dad show? And what if this dad was not a good person? Mom said he was, but what if he _changed_? Or what if she _had lied_?

All those thoughts could make him shiver, and so, he tried not to think about it. And that's why he _hated_ so much things like "father's game"; it would always remind him they – he and mom - were alone.

"I'm sorry, Thomas…" Mom sounded kind of sad, like she always did when in similar situations.

"It's alright. Stupid, that's all." He sighed. "I don't care, really."

And then he could feel his mother's touch on his back, consoling him, somehow.

"You know, baby…" Thomas could see her reflection in the window glass, and realized she was smiling. "Maybe we could find someone to go with you!"

He turned to face her:

"_Find_ someone? Like who?" Thomas couldn't avoid the doubtful tone of his voice.

"We'll find someone."

"Mom…! Please, it's not someone that will _embarrass_ me…?"

"Have I _ever_ embarrassed you?" Her look was, at once, daring and amused.

"No…" He couldn't argue with that.

"Don't worry, then. Just trust me."

The taxi stopped, putting an end to the trip and the conversation.

"Here we are, madam!"

Thomas left the car, and waited for his mom as she paid the driver. "We are late", was her only commentary when she joined him on the sidewalk, and took his hand.

She pulled him by his hand, and they walked the airport lobby, Thomas trying to keep up with his mother. For some reason, she seemed to be nervous and distracted.

"Mom…!"

"Yes?" Nothing would stop her, he realized. Mom would just walk faster and faster as they talked.

"Maybe you should check the flight…" He pointed at a panel as they passed by.

"His flight is not there, baby."

_His?_ It was a man, then, the person they were going to meet. For some reason, Thomas just presumed it would be a woman, one of mom's old friends from Gotham… but a man? He never heard of a _man_ friend.

And why wasn't his flight on the panel?

"Where are we going…?"

He had his answer as they got to an area of the airport he had never visited; there was a signboard: Private Flights.

"Here we are."

The arrival area had doors with dark glasses, so dark you couldn't see through. Outside, two security guards glanced at them; one said a polite "good morning", while the other just waved his head. Other than that, there was nothing much to be seen.

"Are you sure it's here?"

"Yes, Thomas, I'm sure." She used an impatient tone, one he was not used to hear from his mom.

"Maybe he got tired of waiting and…"

"He wouldn't leave." Thomas felt his mother's hand pressing his own, the nervous grip of her fingers.

Thomas was thinking the situation was pretty strange. Especially the way his mother was behaving; nothing like the calm and patient mother he knew. Who was this person they were waiting for, anyway? Why would mom be so nervous? _A man_. A man, coming from Gotham. And why mom didn't say something before? He had no idea there was a man coming to visit…

The glass doors opened, and Thomas understood.

The first thing Thomas noticed about him were his eyes. Blue eyes, he had. Than, the dark hair. He had dark hair, which already showed signs of grey on his tempers. He was tall; he had broad shoulders. He also had a recent scar over his left eyebrow, stitches still there to be seen; one of his hands, Thomas observed, was wrapped in bandages.

And, Thomas realized, the man was smiling.

So was his mom.

The man approached, but just until he was a few feet from them. He stopped. Had his lips pressed together, and looked kind of anxious. Mom stared at him for a few seconds, and she smiled too. Although, Thomas was shocked to see, there were tears in her eyes. _Tears! _But she didn't look sad, not really; she actually looked happy…

"Bruce…", she said, and Thomas realized that was the name of that man. _Bruce_, he repeated it, silently shaping the word on his lips.

Thomas felt his mother letting go of his hand, and she even tried to move… but Bruce was faster. He had already embraced her, arms around her body, pulling her close to him. Thomas saw how his mother trembled, and had a glimpse of her face, wet with tears, that she hid against the man's chest. They stood like that for a time that Thomas felt like eternity. They just wouldn't let go of each other, as his mother would mumble words the boy couldn't understand, and they held each other, mom crying, really crying, while Bruce hugged her… And then, she raised her eyes to face that man, glancing at him in a way the boy had never seen his mother do before… Her arms too went around him, but around his neck, and Thomas turned his eyes from them as he saw his mom… _kissing_ that man… kissing him on his lips…!

For a second, Thomas was terrified. Never, never before had his mother _ignored_ him, had let go of his hand, had… forgotten him?

"Thomas", he heard mother calling him, as he was still where she had left him, "come here, baby!"

He went.

"This is Bruce." She caressed the boy's hair, while smiling openly.

"Hi…"

Thomas looked up to meet the man's eyes, blue eyes he knew to be just like his own. Eyes he recognized from before, eyes that now watched him intensely, in a way, Thomas new, he hadn't been watched in many years.

"Thomas…!" Bruce said it in a whisper. Smiled. Raised one hand to the boy's face, touching lightly his cheek.

"I remember you…" Thomas said it, said it even before thinking, said it because the words jumped outside his mouth, said because, after all, it couldn't be _just_ a dream.

"I'm sorry, what…"

"I remember you. I do." His mother had a puzzled expression, staring at them in confusion; Bruce, however, nodded slightly his head, encouraging Thomas to proceed. "We were at the park… _we_… you talked to me…"

Thomas closed his eyes, now almost seeing it again, hearing the words again, feeling the cold of that winter afternoon, years ago.

"It was you, wasn't it?"

Bruce took a few moments before answering; and then:

"Yes."

"I knew it was you…" He looked into the eyes of that man he now recognized. "You are… my father."

"I am."

Thomas felt his mother's hand on his shoulder, a gesture of reassurance. Bruce remained in silence, waiting for his son's reaction.

"You said you would be back… You are, aren't you…? You are here… to stay?"

A gentle, almost imperceptible smile could be seen on Bruce's features.

"Yes, I'm here to stay. If that's okay with you, of course."

The boy exchanged glances with his mother; she blinked an eye, and put an arm around him.

"I'm okay with it."

Bruce's smile widened: "I'm glad to hear it."

Thomas returned his father's smile. _Father_.

He just hoped Bruce could play football.

* * *

He would always remember the sweetness of her lips…

She could never forget the pleasure when his hands touched her skin…

The memory of her soft kisses…

The recollection of his caresses…

To recall the feeling of her tender body trembling under his own…

To keep in memory the plenitude she felt when he was inside her again…

Instead of a reminiscence, actually have her in his arms.

To be in his arms, and never again remember they once were apart.

* * *

In the end, Batman wasn't dead.

It was the tenth day since Bruce was there, living with them in the apartment. It was also the day that would stay in Thomas' memories as the one in which his father made a choice.

Sunday morning, no school, but still Thomas was up early. The clock showed it was half past six, but the boy couldn't sleep anymore. He never actually _liked_ sleeping – mother would always tell how the pediatrician had him examined many times as a baby, because he slept much less than a normal child usually does -, but, in the last days, the boy could barely endure more than a few hours in bed. Since Bruce – _dad_ – arrived, things were happening very fast, and there was so much to learn, to know, to ask… Thomas knew his life was _changing_, and in many ways.

The day Bruce arrived, mom cooked dinner, and they seated around the table for the first time. Not only Thomas and mom, like he was used to; Bruce was there too, holding hands with mother, and staring at Thomas like, the boy felt, he was something rare and precious. It was strange, at first, but the boy understood. Soon enough Thomas realized that Bruce was just like mom in this: he too was a lonely person. That dinner was probably as new for his father as it was for himself.

_"So that's why…!"_, the boy thought to himself that first day, while watching how mom smiled and looked so happy. He finally saw the reason behind his mother's solitude; the thing is, all those years, she had been _waiting_ for Bruce.

Just like he had waited for that man from his memories.

_Bruce Wayne_, Thomas was constantly repeating the name to himself. "_Bruce Wayne, my father."_ Wayne was a famous name, Thomas soon learned. People knew his father, and it was not unusual to see guys called _paparazzi_ taking pictures of them in the park, or in restaurants, or even in front of their building. Just a few days after his father arrived, other kids in school would ask Thomas about his dad like it was something of common knowledge. It was scary, at first, but mom explained to him: Bruce had money, lots of it, and owned a company or something like that. He was an important person in Gotham, she told him, so people would always want to know about him. Mom explained he shouldn't worry, because it would pass. _"We are news now, baby"_, she explained, _"but soon we will be old news, and they will leave us in peace."_

Thomas hoped so.

The boy left his bed, walked out of his room. On Sundays, he usually prepared his own breakfast, because mom would sleep through the morning, sometimes until noon. She would always tell him he _should_ have waked her up, but Thomas knew better; even moms deserved a break every once in a while. And now, now that Bruce was there… they were always together, the three of them, and Bruce would spend most of his time with Thomas, taking him and picking him at school, going to the park for long walks, playing chess or football – Bruce was a good ball player, but an _amazing_ chess player -, or just talking; however, there were moments, the boy sensed, that were meant only for his mom and dad. They would never _tell_ him, but he knew. Thomas knew they needed to be alone with each other, sometimes.

Another good reason to take care of breakfast himself: let mom and dad have their morning, if they wished.

The boy went to the kitchen, and found in the fridge the remains of the pizza they had eaten last night. Not a _healthy_ breakfast, his mother would say, but Thomas just couldn't resist. Mom was not a fan of fast food, but, on Saturdays, she would make a concession. And, on Sundays, Thomas would enjoy the leftovers of his mother's good will. So, the boy took the last slice of the pepperoni pizza, and just went to the living room, where he could enjoy a morning of unhealthy breakfast and television.

Thomas had just finished the pizza when his father entered the room.

"Good morning", Bruce greeted him with a smile. "It seems I'm not the only one that can't sleep."

"Yeah…" It had already come to the boy's attention that his father also wasn't one that needed or enjoyed sleeping. "I don't see the point in staying in bed, especially when there's so much to do when you are awake."

"We agree on that." After a few seconds in silence, Bruce cautiously pointed the sofa where Thomas was: "Can I…?"

"Sure." The boy answered quickly, moving to the side to make room for his father. In the ten days they were living together, Thomas had noticed how Bruce was always so cautious. At first, the boy thought it was because they were still getting to know each other, but now he thought differently. He wondered if it was just how Bruce was: never rushing things, never a precipitable person. "What do you want to watch?"

"Whatever you're watching…" He looked at his son, an amused expression: "You smell like pepperoni."

Thomas opened his mouth to answer, but he couldn't think of anything.

His father laughed, and raised a hand to the boy's head, fingers gently passing through Thomas' dark hair. "Don't worry, I wont tell…"

"Really?"

"Really. If you promise, of course…"

"Promise what?" Thomas glanced at him with a suspicious look.

"Promise you'll let me prepare you a decent breakfast next Sunday. No more leftovers from Saturday's dinner, okay?"

Still the boy stared at his father with an expression full of doubt.

"What's the matter?" Bruce asked.

"Can you cook?"

"Well…"

"Have you _ever_ cooked?"

Silence hung between them for a few seconds.

"Trust me, I can handle."

For a moment, Thomas thought he had seen an unknown look on his father's eyes, and even heard a deeper tone in his voice. Like he _changed_ for a second, changed into someone so self-confident and sure of himself… that Thomas wondered how he could have doubted his father. That man, _that_ man could do anything.

Even if it was just a stupid French toast.

"Okay."

"Okay." Bruce was smiling again.

The boy relaxed, seating lazily on the sofa. He let his head rest on his father's biceps, strong arms that – it had been proved already – could easily lift nine years old Thomas without effort, even though the boy was a tall child.

It was true that Thomas was glad that his father had so many unusual qualities, like the fact he was stronger than any dad he had heard about, and smarter, and richer… However, all that was a bit strange too. Thomas still didn't know why it had taken so long for his father to be there, living with him and mom; or why he had never called, or wrote, or why his mother hadn't mentioned him before. Bruce really loved mom, the boy saw it since they first met, and Thomas was pretty sure Bruce also liked being a dad. Then why…?

There were other strange things. It was weird, Thomas thought, that his father had so many scars… Right now, when Bruce was wearing only his pajamas pants, the boy could see the strange marks on his chest, from cuts and burns, and, on his dad's first night, Thomas even saw dark bruises - that looked very painful - present on many places of his body. The bruises were gone, now, but not the picture in the boy's mind, and the question: _how?_

Thomas never asked. Not to his father, not even to mom. He was afraid his parents would have to _lie_.

Using the remote control, Thomas switched channels, trying to find something interesting to watch. It happened that, at seven o'clock in the morning, there weren't many interesting things to watch. Bruce really didn't seem to care, and he didn't react to anything that was on television, letting Thomas free to choose.

The boy just went through the channels, thinking that, if he couldn't find anything interesting, maybe he could play chess with his father, or go outside for a walk. In fact, Thomas was so absorbed in this thought, that he reacted with surprise when Bruce put a hand over his, signing to the boy stop changing channels. Thomas obeyed, doing what he was asked before understanding what it was about… until something got his attention too. A word, actually; nothing more. Looking at the television, he realized they were watching the news. And the reporter, he heard, had said _Batman_.

Thomas felt his father's arm trembling slightly, an involuntary move that lasted less than a second. Still, it had been noticeable, and the boy raised his eyes to look at his father's face, and saw the paleness that had took it. A grave, cold look was all that could be seen in Bruce's face; a _concentrated_ look, as he watched the television.

"… Gotham's vigilante surprised the whole world by reappearing, alive and well, during a bank robbery." Behind the reporter - a woman named Vicky Vale - a bank could be seen, with broken glasses all over the sidewalk, and a car crashed on the wall of the building. "Batman stopped the criminals as they were leaving in that car, taking with them almost two million dollars…"

To Thomas' surprise, Bruce stood up and got closer to the television, kneeling in front of it; the boy had the feeling his father was _searching _for something in the images. He looked so _serious_ that Thomas was almost scared.

"According to the police, criminals and witnesses complained that _excessive force_ was used by Batman…"

The boy couldn't hear, but he read the word "no" on his father's lips.

"Although the police didn't officially pronounce about Batman's reappearance, it seems that the methods used and the material collected discard this vigilant as a mere copycat…"

Thomas was a smart kid. At least smart enough to realize this: his father's secret, the one that had even kept him away for so long… this secret, this mission… they were watching it on television now. Bruises and scars, an absent father, his mother's silence, Batman's death… all the pieces were getting together to built the answer Thomas had been looking for. Indeed, his father had a secret. A _huge_ secret.

And that was not all… This secret, the thing that belonged to Bruce for so many years… it seemed he had no control over it anymore.

But did _it_ still have control over his father?

The boy knew the answer to that question… a simple, honest _yes_.

* * *

"I _knew_ this was going to happen…!"

Selina was standing in her bedroom, watching while Bruce was collecting personal items from the wardrobe, and putting it in his suitcase.

"Please, don't be like that…" He took a second to look at her, but not more. "It's a minor problem; it will be solved in a couple days."

She glanced at him with cold despise: "I always knew you had flaws, but never thought of you as a liar."

"Selina…"

"I keep telling you… _Don't _treat me like I'm one of your casual dates! Long legs and no brains? You are on the wrong place, sweetheart…"

He walked to her, but she refused his touch; turned her back on him. "Do you forget I played this game too? Quite well, by the way…"

"I _remember_."

Selina heard as he took a deep breath, letting the air out slowly.

"You don't have to be nervous, Bruce", she was forcing a frivolous tone, "like I said, I was expecting something like that…"

"Why are you doing this? I'll be back in no time, I promise."

Tears were trying to come out, but she struggled against it. _"Stupid woman! Do… not… cry…!"_

"Really, Bruce…" Her voice, for Selina's relief, showed no signs of the inner pain. Actually, it sounded sarcastic and dry. "Don't you think that, if you return to Gotham now, you will be dragged in to it again?"

"You have to trust me, Selina." He approached her, his body pressuring against her back, his hands slowly caressing her arms, and finally resting on her waist. "I can do this!"

But her hands covered her face, hiding the tears that were escaping through her eyes. "I know you honestly think you can… I know you think you will do just this _one_ thing, but it's not like that…! No, things like that will always lead to another problem, to another crime, to another villain, to another…"

Words were cut by an unstoppable wave of cry, an explosion of pain in her chest, one she couldn't hold inside… not anymore.

"No… No, it's not like used to be!" He pulled her close, feeling her against him, her warm body, her scent, and he kissed her neck and shoulders, desperately trying to push away the cry that hurt him so much. "You know I have spent years planning my way out, doing everything to be _free_, to release myself from all that, so we…"

She turned to face him, her green eyes piercing him with fury: "So we could be together, right? So you could be _just_ Bruce Wayne… and Batman no more… right?"

"Right."

"Tell me, then", a sad and yet triumphant smile crossed her lips, "why do you care if some crazy fanatic is playing Batman in Gotham?"

Of course, he knew there was no good answer to that question.

* * *

Thomas sighed.

In ten days, he hadn't heard, or even dreamed about his parents arguing; least of all, fighting. Mom was so happy… now, she sounded furious. And she was yelling. And _crying_!

Bruce… _dad_… Thomas couldn't hear very well what he was saying – he was not yelling, but rather using a low and husky tone -, but it was not good. He too was different, he _transformed_ since they saw the news… Serious, he was so serious and _cold_, distant… Like he had locked himself in an inner world, and no one was allowed in there. Just his look… would push anyone away.

_Why?_

The Batman. It was all about the Batman.

Right now, Thomas was anything but glad that _Batman_, the real one, was going to return to Gotham…

* * *

"I don't want you back. I _don't_."

"You don't mean that."

"The _hell_ I don't! I mean it, and I only regret that I didn't do it before…!"

"It will not change anything!"

"You know it will!"

"I'm sorry, but this is something I can't leave to be done by somebody else… It's _my _responsibility."

"Oh, _please_! Don't you come and talk to me about responsibility! What about your responsibility as a _father_?"

"That's not fair…! _You _were the one that set boundaries and rules, you were the one that hid my son from me…!"

"Yes, hold me responsible. I _am_ responsible! I'm not letting you or anybody else put my son in dangerous, or even _hurt_ him again!"

"_Hurt_ him? How dare you suggest I would hurt Thomas?"

"You already did! You are doing it right now! You will do it every time you leave this apartment to chase your insane mission!"

"Please… I have to visit Gotham eventually, Wayne Enterprises is still…"

"Wayne Enterprises. Right. You're really good at fooling yourself."

"All I'm saying is that Gotham is part of my life, even as Bruce Wayne."

"We both know it's not Bruce Wayne that is going to Gotham today."

"I'm repeating myself here… why can't you believe I'm coming back?"

"Because you are not."

"Selina…"

"_No_! No, Bruce, I won't have it again! It's too much! If you go, you're gone for good."

"You can't make a decision like that for all of us. Thomas is not a baby anymore, and I'll not leave my son again."

"Your son… Ten days and you think you know something about being a father?"

"The reason I only had _ten_ _days_ is because I wanted to respect you and your decision, is because I agreed with _you_…"

"Bruce, come on! You can't believe in that! Do you actually hold me responsible for hiding my pregnancy, for not telling you about Thomas? _You_, the greatest detective in the world, could really be fooled by me?"

"I know what you are doing. You're trying to convince me that I didn't want to know…"

"Am I wrong?"

"Of course!"

"If you want to prove me wrong, stay."

"A _test_? Don't you think I _want_ to stay?"

"Oh, I'm sure you would like to stay… I also think you want to go!"

"I want to solve a _problem_."

"It's too much, isn't it?"

"What is?"

"See someone using the Batman, using your _name_, doing what you used to do…"

"If it was just a simple copycat…"

"You care because maybe this guy could be a good _new_ Batman, right? And you wouldn't allow that… _you_ are the one and only…"

"I worry that this person could use the symbol to take advantage, to hurt people, to commit crimes! I created it…"

"… and you should be the one to destroy it."

"Right."

"In the end, it's always about you."

* * *

He heard the door from mom's bedroom opening and closing. Then, steps in the corridor; they stopped in front of his bedroom's door, and Thomas waited.

But nothing happened.

Steps again. Farther and farther. The boy heard the front door opening and closing.

And he was gone.

* * *

She was lying on her bed, face hid on a pillow. It would keep the sounds of her cry from spreading, it would keep Thomas from hearing. He shouldn't, he didn't have to listen. He had probably overheard too much already.

Her poor son…

_Silly, stupid mother!_ Selina thought of how many bad decisions she had taken, and how much suffering it caused to her child. She never regretted her first choice, the one of having the baby, the one that forced her to leave Gotham and life as Catwoman. That was not as hard as she thought it would be, not at all. No, it was _never_ hard. Have Thomas, be his mother… that was priceless.

However, she remembered the promise. The one she made when she held Thomas in her arms for the first time. _You will be happy_, she said. _Whatever it takes_.

And now… Now she knew there was a little boy in the room next to hers, wondering what was going on. A boy that had gained a father and just lost it. They were great, they were great without Bruce, why did she allow him into their lives…? They didn't need him. Thomas didn't need him. He was a wonderful kid; he had never complained about this father issue, he had always been so understanding…! Such a good child. Smart. Handsome. Strong. So strong. Self-confident and independent. What else could a mother ask for?

_"I ruined everything…"_

Seven years ago, when Bruce had visited for the first time, Selina thought that maybe things could be different. It was hard, so hard, to tell Bruce to leave… It was so sad, look through the window while her son was carried by his father, watch the boy hug his father, see Bruce kissing Thomas… All that felt so… _right_.

Selina just couldn't resist when Bruce told her he was going to take care of them. When he told her he was going to be back. When he said they would be together, the three of them.

Back then, she thought it was all about Thomas.

Now, she realized it had been about herself.

About her love for him.

About her fear of being alone.

She allowed it because she wanted Thomas to have a dad, but even more because she wanted to have a companion. No, not merely companionship; because she wanted _Bruce_. Selina wanted him with her, and, also, she deeply desired this proof of love: the end of Batman, for the sole reason that he had chosen _her_ over that masked persona. Her love over his mission.

_"I was selfish…"_

Now, now he was gone. Batman won. Gotham won. The crusade won. _Again. _And the cost?

She was devastated, but that was fine… Selina was used to get up and pull herself together. She had fallen too many times to not be able to pick herself up again. No, she would be okay.

But there was Thomas.

She failed her son. She didn't protect him. He now had lost something that, ten days ago, he didn't even know he had… But ten days are enough to make you love… to make you remember… And there was no way the boy didn't know about Batman. That kid was so smart, maybe _too_ smart. Not only he had to watch his father leave, now he would have to live with a secret?

_"I turned my son's life into hell…"_

And she failed her promise.

Because, right now, she knew Thomas was not happy. Despite all her efforts, her son was getting to know a darker side of life.

* * *

Thomas decided: he would not be abandoned.

He would not be left behind. Neither would mom. She was crying in her room, he could hear, and that was hurting him a lot. He had never seen mom cry, not from sadness or pain, at least. Oh, Thomas knew she could be sad, Thomas knew she suffered, sometimes; but she had never complained, never cried, and would always say things would be okay… Mom was brave, Thomas knew.

And that's why her cry would scary him so much.

Thomas just couldn't let things go this way.

He had to do something. He had to stop all that right now.

Because it just wasn't in his nature to seat down and watch.

* * *

_"I fell asleep?"_

She had.

Selina seated on her bed, somewhat confused about what was dream and what was reality. The clock showed it was seven minutes past three p.m., meaning she had been sleeping for the last _four_ hours, at least. _"Oh, God…"_ All that conversation with Bruce was exhausting, even more considering they had been up almost all night, talking and…

_"Over. It's over."_

It was on the past, now. No more Bruce. He had made his choice.

But what about Thomas? Selina felt a little ashamed, she hadn't talked to her son since his father left, he was probably confused and upset; not to mention, lunch time had come and gone, Thomas was probably hungry… Unless he had prepared something for himself, but that was no excuse for her. She was his mother, and a lousy mother if she was staying in bed, crying all day. No, it was time to move, get out of her room, and return to life. Thomas needed her… and she needed him. They would be fine. They had each other, and had never needed anybody else.

She took off the shirt she had been using to sleep: Bruce's shirt. He didn't take it with him… Too bad. It was a nice shirt, long sleeves, maybe had been used too much, but that was part of the fun. It had been, at least – because his scent was all over that shirt… Now, it was only good to throw away. Or maybe she could send it to him by mail, along with all the other things he left there. The point was, she was not going to keep anything that belonged to him.

Selina dressed her own clothes, a sueter and jeans, and decided to let bath for later. She had to see Thomas first, take care of him, talk to him… everything else could wait. Maybe she could take him to the movies? Or any other thing he wanted to do. There was nothing that would erase what happened, true… but there were things that could help you put it behind.

Reaching the door of her son's room, she knocked gently. Thomas didn't usually closed his door, but considering the volume of her own voice when talking to Bruce… no doubt the boy wanted to isolate himself from that. _"Oh, Thomas, I'm sorry…"_, she thought to herself. So many things she had done wrong. Just hoped he could forgive her, someday.

She knocked again, realizing no one had answered. "Thomas", she called.

Silence.

Maybe he was sleeping too? That would be strange, considering he usually didn't sleep much. Less of all during the day.

"Thomas, please, open the door!"

Maybe he was angry. Upset. Maybe he didn't want to talk. That was not his normal behavior, he used to be so… _sympathetic_. However, the situation was new. They had never been through something like that, and he was, still, _just_ a child. Selina tried to open the door, but, as she thought, it was locked.

"Baby, please, just _say_ something!" She noticed her heart was finally accelerating, and her hands were trembling slightly. "We don't have to talk, just tell me you're okay…!"

Silence was all she got.

"Thomas, you're making me nervous!"

He was; she was now worried to _death_. Her heart was pounding so fast, so hard against her chest… She had nausea. Did something happen…? He could have suffered an accident. Fell. Knocked his head. Cut himself. Hurt. _Dead_.

_"Don't panic, Selina!"_ Panic didn't help. _Do_ something, that would help.

She went to the bathroom in her suite. Opened the first drawer, sighing in relief; she had found what she was looking for, the small first aid kit Bruce had brought. He had arrived still wounded from Batman's last adventure, and brought the kit to finish treatment. Selina couldn't avoid a "thank you, Bruce", said in a quick whisper. In the case, she found needles for stitches; there were many different sizes of needles, and she took three of the longest ones.

_"Hope I'm not too out of shape…"_

Back to Thomas' room, Selina kneeled in front of the door, and immediately started to use the needles in the lock.

"Please, baby, if you can hear mommy, _say_ something!"

No sound.

The lock cracked, and she recognized it as a success. She couldn't avoid a smile, a smile she hadn't give in many years… a Catwoman's smile. Almost ten years since she had picked a lock, maybe more. But she was still good at it. Maybe _great_.

_"Thomas!"_ Her mind turned again to this one goal: her son.

The room was dark, all lights off and the curtains were closed. His bed, sheets and pillows, all a mess – the usual result after a night of sleep -, but no sign of the boy. Selina opened the wardrobe, looked under the bed, opened the window, checked the bathroom…

_"Where are you, baby?"_

That's when she noticed the paper sheet on his desk. _"Oh, no, Thomas, please, don't…"_

It was her son's handwriting, a note on one of his notebooks page:

_Mom,_

_Don't worry, okay? I'm fine. I just can't let it end like that. You were angry, and dad didn't think this through. I know I can help, just give me a chance. Be back soon._

_Love, Thomas_

Selina took a deep breath, trying to remain in control while she read the message again and again. Was that really happening? Had her nine years old son sneaked out of the house and left her a note?

This had gone too far.

From what she could understand of the message, Thomas suggested he was going after Bruce… Selina checked the hour again: almost three thirty. How long since Thomas left? An hour? Two? Maybe more. He could have left any time between eleven and three, when she was asleep, after all. _"Great mother, Selina, really…!" _

He was in the airport, no doubt. Well, had been there, at least – so many terrible things could happen to a boy, so dangerous, all alone...

_"No"_, she mentally yelled, _"no, he is smart and resourceful, he can take care of himself…!"_

But he was missing. He was. No doubt that, if he had reached Bruce in the airport, his father would have called… Bruce knew she would be worried _to death_. Bruce would call… wouldn't he?

_"He would."_ She knew that, no matter how upset Bruce was, he would never let her panic; and he wouldn't leave Thomas on his own…

However, there were no calls. No messages, not on her home number, not on her cell.

Four hours… Bruce was already over the Atlantic, probably, and couldn't even dream about what was going on. His jet from Wayne Enterprises was in London, she knew that; they had planned a trip to Paris for the weekend, but called it off on the last moment… Bruce mentioned the plane would stay there, just in case they changed their mind. Of course, it would take time to prepare the jet to leave… but no more than an hour or two. Not Bruce Wayne's jet…

Selina put her shoes, got her coat. She didn't know exactly what to do, but she wouldn't stay there, seating on her apartment and waiting. Call the police? Maybe, but they wouldn't do anything for now, not if she said the truth… Considering the note – proof Thomas was not kidnapped -, and the fact she had woke up half an hour ago – the police would say Thomas could have left the apartment just a few minutes before she awaked -, the cops wouldn't do anything until night. And she just couldn't wait that long.

And, anyway, she trusted she was much more competent to track her own son than any police detective. There was only one other person better than her on that kind of thing… but he was not there. Not anymore. She couldn't count on him.

Selina opened the front door, stepping out of the apartment. Pushed the button, anxiously waiting for the elevator… She regretted that, and just went down using the stairs, running the entire way – three floors. Got to the lobby, and was just leaving the building when she saw him:

"Bruce?"

He was seated on one of the two chairs of the lobby, eyes staring the elevator – the chairs were positioned across the elevator, a clue of how much you could be forced to wait for that ancient thing -, hand supporting his chin, lips pressed together.

"Selina…" Her voice seemed to have brought him back from deep thoughts. He raised himself from that old chair, looking both intrigued and surprised; his mouth opened, making believe he was about to say something, but it closed without a word. However, he approached her, even though he did it in a very cautious manner, while watching her every move.

But Selina was not, under the circumstances, so interested in what he had to say to her; after all, if Bruce was there, she could be sure that Thomas was somewhere else, alone and disappointed. Maybe in danger.

"What are you doing here? I thought you had…"

"I couldn't." He simply said.

"The airport… Did you even…?"

"No. Never got there. I just walked for hours around the neighborhood…" He narrowed his eyes while staring at her. "Did something happened?"

"How long have you been here?" She couldn't avoid the way the question sounded, words coming out nervously.

Selina realized how he immediately noticed there was something wrong. In a second he was standing right in front of her, his eyes directly on hers, reading her every reaction.

"Forty six minutes", he answered her precisely. "What's the matter?" His fingers wrapped around her wrist gently: "You're trembling…"

"Am I?"

"You're pale… your pulse is fast…!" He blinked repeatedly for a few seconds, and the knowledge finally reached him: "Where's Thomas?"

She sighed, not sure if his presence there was, after all, a good sign or not.

* * *

"Are you alone?"

The man asking this was dressed as a police officer, leaning over Thomas while he was seated on a bench near the public phones. The boy had been there for almost two hours now, staring at his own feet, and had no clue what so ever of what to do.

Problem was, Thomas had not been able to find his father. He asked around, but no one had seen him; apparently, he had not been in the airport, at least not that anyone knew. The nice lady in the information even looked in the computer, telling him he was too late… Wayne Enterprise's private jet had left even before Thomas got to the airport. And it didn't seem like dad was in any regular flights either. That nice lady even asked Thomas if he didn't want to call someone… "maybe you mother?", she asked kindly. No, Thomas didn't want to. He just told her his mom was waiting outside, and quickly disappeared from the woman's sight.

He just seated on that bench, hours ago, because he had no better option or idea. He was not considering return home, thinking how awful it would be to see mom's sad face, and how the apartment would feel lonely and empty. And, of course, how much of a failure he would feel. He _already_ felt, actually. Thomas was not only upset, but furious with himself: he had been too late; he had been a coward. Why he took so long to decide? Why he didn't say something when Bruce left? Why he had to turn on the television in the morning…?

Guilt, Thomas discovered, could be a paralyzing thing.

But now there was this cop, looking at him from above, giving him a strange smile… it was almost a _malicious_ smile, Thomas thought. And he was pretty strange for a police officer. His uniform was wrinkled, and apparently dirty. There was dust on his shoes, and dark marks with a terrible aspect on the man's trousers.

"No, I'm not alone…" He made his best to sound confident, looking into the man's eyes – Bruce had taught him that this would reassure anything he says. "My dad is buying a cup of coffee."

"Is that right, my boy?"

The question made the boy shiver; the cop's tone was ironic and aggressive. Thomas understood: the man was trying to intimidate him.

"That's right." He tried to remain calm.

"Oh… Aren't you a little liar…?"

"What…?"

Something was wrong, Thomas now knew. Very wrong.

The boy moved as fast as he could, quickly standing and planning to run away from that freak. However, the man seemed to be prepared for that, because he immediately closed his finger around Thomas' arm, a grasp as cold and strong as a metal claw. It was painful, and the man made no effort to avoid hurting the kid, but on the contrary: he slightly turned his hand, causing Thomas to feel a burning pain.

"Don't scream!" The boy could feel a breath close to his neck, hot and of offensive smell. Then, the man forced Thomas to look at him, and showed him a very sharp blade coming out of his sleeve. "Say a word, and this goes directly into your eye…"

Looking around, all Thomas saw were people coming and going, most of them trying to keep a distance from this cop and the boy he was talking to. No one seemed to care. People were even trying not to look, turning their faces to the other way… The airport security had even turned his back on them.

The painful grasp on his arm got tighter, and Thomas felt unwanted tears coming to his eyes. He took a deep breath, making his best to avoid crying.

"Look at this pretty boy…" The mockery came while the man started to pull Thomas, forcing him to walk. For a moment the boy wondered if it wasn't all just a dream, that strange day that started with an unlikely revelation, and now had brought him to that place where all felt like a nightmare. Was that man real? That strange person dressed like a cop, a big guy that smelled terribly, pushing him through the airport corridor with such violence, while no one around would do anything? "Will you cry? Hm? Tell me, will you cry? I would like that, yes sir, I would… You look like a troublesome kid, a rebel… I bet your daddy has to _spank_ you a lot, hm?"

"My father…" but before Thomas could end this phrase of protest, he felt the man pushing him against the wall, pressing the child against it with his own body, and making sure Thomas would hit his nose and mouth on it.

"A rebel, I said! I _don't_ like rebels, kid!" The words were whispered near the boy's face. "Be quiet, hear me?"

The blade touched lightly Thomas' stomach. "Cold, isn't it?" The man asked, his expression a mix of fury and pleasure. "But your blood would make it nice and warm…!"

Now the boy couldn't hold a few tears that silently came down his cheek. Thomas could feel the crying he was containing pressing against his throat, but he swallowed it. Also tasted the blood that was coming from a cut in his mouth, a cut caused by the impact against the wall.

"Now, now… It will be fine…" A heavy hand brutally touched the boy's face, a mockery of a caress. "In a few minutes, I promise you will be able to cry as much as you want, okay?"

He kept dragging Thomas around the airport, under the eyes of dozens of people that were pretending not to see. The man was a cop, after all. Everyone probably just assumed he was doing his job, maybe taking a young shoplifter to teach him a lesson…

There were people even _smiling_.

In a minute they reached an area of the airport that was isolated with yellow lines and signs: "No trespassing", and "Men working" were some of the words Thomas could read on the several signboards. Apparently, that section of the airport was under some kind of construction work.

"Don't worry, kid, no one will bother us here…"

Thomas knew what the man was talking about; it was Sunday, and no one was working at that place. The area was quite extensive and isolated, and away from the eyes of anyone that would pass outside. To make it even worst, Thomas realized he was now dragged to a bathroom in that area, a room with nothing more than a dozen boxes piled against the wall, pieces of broken glass all over the floor, and, strangely, an old mirror still on the wall.

"Beautiful, hm? You can call it my 'love nest'." He closed the door behind him, and Thomas was horrified to see the man had a key to lock that door. "We'll have lots of fun…"

He finally let go of the boy's arms, and Thomas immediately ran from the man, going to the other side of the bathroom.

"You are a fighter, then? Okay, I like that… I like to fight for it… But I tell you, this will hurt more in you…" The knife was obvious now, its thin blade pointing to Thomas as the man spoke. The boy knew he could run around, maybe kick and struggle… but that was a big man. Solid, with big hands and arms, even though not very tall. He couldn't fight that man physically.

"Wait!" Thomas was not sure if this was a good idea, but he had to try _something_.

To his surprise, the man did stop.

"What…? You have something to say?" A maniac smile made his features look even more cruelly insane. "Oh, how lovely… I _knew_ you were special as soon as I put my eyes on you!"

"I… I…" His hesitance seemed to encourage the man, and he stepped forward. Thomas said the first thing that came into mind: "Do you know who I am?"

A laugh was the man's response, but he stopped a few feet before reaching Thomas.

"My… my father is an important person…!" Thomas realized he felt awful for saying this, but, since it seemed to have effect over that man, he proceeded. "He has money… and… and… he knows people!"

The man was not laughing anymore. His eyes looked inject with anger.

"Oh… so daddy is a big shot, isn't he? Daddy has lots of money…? Daddy can make everything okay, right?" He covered the distance between him and the boy in a second, one hand immediately grabbing the kid's hair, and pulling him close.

Thomas gasped from the pain, the awful smell of sweat invading his lungs, and felt the sharp metal of the knife behind his ear, then lowering to his face, neck, chest… He felt the blade going under his shirt, and, with a sudden and brutal move, that blade cut through the fabric of the shirt, sueter, and even the jacket the boy was wearing, exposing his thorax.

"Oh, look at that… all his clothes are ruined… I guess you'll have to take it all off…"

"No! My father…" Thomas was interrupted by a solid fist that hit his head, making his world a place of darkness for a few seconds. He felt what could only be blood dripping from his nose profusely.

"Your _father_…! Shut up about that! Your _father_ will find pieces of you in the bottom of the river, that's what he…"

The door behind the man opened with a loud noise, a bumping sound that was followed by the door knocking on the wall and then falling on the floor.

"What the hell…?" The man said, confusion and surprise could be heard in his voice. Thomas felt this as a moment of doubt for his aggressor, and took this chance to free himself from the painful hands. He pulled himself from that grasp, ignoring the pain on his scalp. "You little rat…!" The man grunted. The boy tried to crawl away from his furious kidnapper, moving as fast as he could. He felt fingers around his ankle, but he kicked with all his strength. The man did let go of his leg, but, instead, attacked with his knife.

Thomas saw the blade coming to his direction, a blow from above, and no way out of it; closed his eyes, waiting for the cold knife…

A yell and the words "son of a bitch!", followed by the sound of metal against a solid surface… Thomas opened his eyes to see that the knife was lying abandoned on the floor, and his attacker cried and screamed while staring in shock at his own hand. There was a piece of glass deeply buried in the flesh of that hand, the one that had held the knife.

Next thing Thomas saw was this tall, huge figure – was it human? – approaching, and easily lifting the now desperate and panicked man in front of him. Ignoring anything the man was saying, this other person just threw him against the mirror on the wall, and said in a cold, husky tone:

"And now is when you regret that this place is so isolated and out of sight."

The man was on his knees, begging:

"No, no, no… no, please, the boy is fine…"

"No, he is not." Again he grabbed the man, pulling him up until his feet were not touching the floor. "But _I_ will feel a little better after I'm finished with you."

"No…!"

Thomas felt a gentle hand touching his shoulder.

"Mom…!"

She was crying, still crying, but not from sadness, Thomas knew. "Mom, I'm sorry…!"

"It's okay, baby!" She pulled him close to her, giving him the strongest hug she had ever given, kissing his forehead and his face. "Thomas… my baby…"

The boy could hear the noises behind his back; screams, cries that were coming from that man as he begged and asked… But now Thomas hid his face against his mother's body, her warm and protective body.

"Let's get out of here, baby. Don't look, okay?" She embraced him while they walked, her hand over his eyes.

"But…" Thomas didn't want to look, not really, but he had to know. "What will happen to…"

His mother didn't let him finish the question:

"Shh… Don't worry…" They left the bathroom, and now Thomas could only hear fists repeatedly beating, covering the distant sound of a weep, a weep caused by pain and fear. "Don't worry… Daddy will take care of everything…"

* * *

That night he slept on his parent's bed, between his mother and father; his dad's protective arm over him, his mom's hand caressing his sore face until he fell asleep.

No nightmares.

No fears.

And he dreamed about a bat.


	4. Chapter 4

Okay, here is the epilogue I promised…

Don't expect much, please. This is just a glimpse of a possible future, and an opportunity I had of showing a bit of how things were in Gotham, and with people like Dick and Barbara. To be honest, I wrote many versions of the epilogue, long stories with lots of drama… but, well, the story already has enough of it, and this chapter should never be the focus, shouldn't be more or even as important as the previous chapters. This one just gives the readers a little something to think about.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. Please, review. If you've been reading my story, please, give your opinion. In the end, it's always good to hear what the faithful readers have to say about, so the next stories can be better. I'm anxious to know what readers think about this "Unexpected Child" now that it's complete.

I thank you, all of you, all the people that were with me during this "journey". I hope you liked the story; be sure that I appreciated the fact that you've been reading it…

AliaAtreidesBr

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**Twenty five years**

"Honestly, Thomas, I don't think that's what your father had in mind when he asked me to look after you while you're in Gotham…"

"Probably not, Dick; probably not…"

Thomas smiled. He just couldn't restrain his satisfaction.

They were looking at a huge cave, but not only that; no, that was…

"The Batcave…!"

"Indeed." Dick Grayson, of course, didn't sound impressed.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Dick…" The young man placed both hands in his pockets, and tried to look less affected than he actually was. "This tour is probably boring you…"

Grayson was a middle aged man, grey hair and beard, and he would easily be taken as an ordinary person, except, maybe, for his still impressive physical shape. In his outside, the man that was once the first Robin, and later the vigilant Nightwing, gave no clue that any connections with his hero life were still at work.

It was on what was under the surface, however, that Thomas was interested.

"Don't worry, Tom." No one else in the world was allowed to call Thomas Wayne by the nickname _Tom_, but Dick was – clearly - an exception. He was something between an older brother and an uncle for Thomas, and his father's oldest and most trusted friend. Whatever the differences Richard Grayson and Bruce Wayne had had in the past, they were always loyal to each other, Thomas knew. And after his father moved to London, fifteen years ago, well… Dick was the one left in charge. "It has been a while since I was down here myself."

"Is that right?"

"Yes… You know, the cave has been out of action for… let me see…"

"Ten years in May", Thomas answered promptly.

"That's right…!" Grayson walked to the wall on his left, opening a panel that showed dozens of buttons. He pressed it in a very particular order, and that turned on lights all over the cave. "You remember it quite well. How do you even know that? Bruce told me he didn't talk abut this things with you."

The young man smiled to himself, a gesture that caused Dick Grayson to shiver. They really were _very much_ alike, father and son. Thomas was not much younger now than Bruce was when Dick first met him, and the resemblance was astonishing. Seeing Thomas inside the Batcave, that mysterious look on his face, his expression while he walked around the old trophies Bruce had collected from his enemies over the years… It would make Grayson feel like he was a teenager again, memories of those first days, of when he had discovered the cave himself, his first visit, the first time he saw the Batman… Funny how Bruce's son seemed to _fit_ in that place.

_"Now, old man, take all the nonsense out of your head…"_ Bruce had specifically told him on the phone that he shouldn't take Thomas to see the cave, and they really should stay out of the topic of Batman… But the kid knew how to be persuasive. Somehow, during dinner, Thomas talked Dick into bringing him to see the cave; it seemed like a good idea, back then.

Or, as Barbara used to say, any excuse was a good reason for Dick to go there…? He was not sure.

"Oh, my father never discussed his days as the _Dark Knight_ with me…" Thomas was talking while watching attentively the old computer, even blowing some of the dust away. "But he didn't have to, either."

"What do you mean?" Dick sighed. It disturbed him a bit that Thomas too was talking in mysterious sentences.

"The night you deactivated the cave…" He now turned his attention to the last Batcar, still parked and kept like an antique in a Museum. "My father got sick. I'm serious, he got _sick_ – and you know he _never_ gets sick. It was the worst case of fever I've ever seen. A fever for which no doctor found a reason, of course…"

"But you did."

"I did." Somehow, Thomas had managed to find the security lock of the car, and had opened it for the first time since Bruce left. "That's a beauty!"

"Be careful, Tom."

"I'm fine."

Unconsciously, Dick Grayson nodded; truth was, the kid _did_ look fine, even familiar with the equipment. He had already turned on the computer on board, and it was examining the functions avaible in the car.

"That's why my father never had to talk about Batman with me, Dick…" Now Thomas had his hands on the wheel, and eyes ahead like watching an invisible road. "It was already too obvious."

"I see." The older man cleared his throat, and tried to change the subject of the conversation: "I think we should go up now… Tim will be here any minute, and he probably wants to see you…"

"Oh… doesn't he know the way to the cave?"

"Very funny, Tom. You have your father's sense of humor… That's not a compliment, by the way." The question reminded him that, by bringing Thomas to a tour in the cave, he had broken an old pact… Dick now lived in Wayne Manor with his wife and daughter, an arrangement he made with Bruce years ago; ever since they – Bruce, Tim, Barbara, Dick himself – decided to leave their heroes lives, it had been his task to watch over the cave, and keep it away from the eyes of anyone. Including – or, better yet, mainly from – their children. The pact was clear: they did the best to make the world a better place, so their children wouldn't have to join any wars.

And what had he done? Bruce _specifically_ told him that Thomas was curious about the cave… said that it would be better if Dick just told him the cave had been destroyed – an option that had been considered in the past, but never accomplished. However, when it came to the moment, he hadn't been able to lie. Hell, he hadn't even been able to deny a tour in the cave!

_"It's probably because he looks like him a lot…!"_ Maybe. After all, it had been almost five years since the last time he had seen Thomas, and never before the resemblance between father and son was so remarkable. Now… now the kid was almost Bruce's ghost.

Or maybe is just because before he was out of context?

Whatever it was, the mistake had been made.

A screeching noise came from the old elevator behind him, and Dick turned to look. Someone was coming down, and this, Grayson knew, would mean trouble… _"I'm so getting yelled at…!"_

None of the men in the cave were surprised to see Barbara coming out the elevator. Her expression showed she was anything but happy to be down there, and the look she gave Dick was, at best, cold; but she said nothing, and just used the control on her wheelchair's arm to enter the main hall of the place. Thomas, seeing that the former Oracle and now Barbara Grayson was there, quickly left the inside of the Batcar, and greeted her with his best and most charming smile:

"Barbara, hello! Good to see you…" He walked to her, taking her hand on his, and kissing it lightly.

The gesture did seem to have an effect on Barbara, since her expression relaxed into a cautious smile.

"Thomas… You are a gentleman, but you guys are not escaping a scowl…"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Barbara", the young man proceeded. "This is my entire fault, I'm afraid. I basically _threatened_ Dick until he agreed on bringing me here…"

"I'm sure you did." The woman glanced briefly at her husband, an evaluative look. "But Dick is more than familiar with threats, and ever since he was a young teenager. I doubt you could have said anything so dreadful…"

Thomas laughed: "Don't underestimate me, Barbara! I can be very persuasive…"

"He got that from his father." It was Dick's commentary, as he joined the conversation. Those words caused Barbara to again glance at him, now in obvious disapproval.

"And where is Hanna?" Thomas quickly changed the subject of conversation.

"Hanna?" The mention of her daughter immediately brought a smile to Barbara's features. "She is getting ready for a party, I think. It's Friday, and nothing could keep a teenager at home…"

"I would like to see her before she leaves… it has been a while."

"Five years, right?" Dick smiled. "She was twelve…" He sighed. "They sure grow up fast…!"

Barbara nodded her head in agreement, now finally staring at her husband with kindness. "You must forgive Dick, Thomas… he is just devastated that Hanna is no longer his sweet little girl."

"No, she's not…" Grayson's brows were wrinkled, a sign of displeasure. "Now she is a 'young woman', like she is always telling me, full of ideas, and – dear God! – even dates boys…"

"Yes, I agree that this must be disturbing to any father…!" Thomas looked around the cave once again, feeling his time down there was ending. _"At least for now"_, he considered to himself. And asked: "Have you ever brought Hanna down here?"

Barbara remained in silence, while Dick answered in a casual tone: "Yes, I showed her the cave once…"

"I didn't want him to show her."

"I had to, Barbara! She was curious, making questions… you know she is a smart girl, no doubt she would have guessed." Facing those arguments, Barbara crossed her arms and said nothing more. Dick proceeded. "It was for the best. I told her everything about her mother and myself, and I think she took it pretty well. _And_ she hated the cave: too many bats, she said."

"I see…"

"Yes, yes, yes…" Barbara sounded impatient, and signed with his hands towards the elevator. They obeyed her. "But you, Thomas Wayne, have no business in here. You wanted to see it? Now you saw. And I pray to God your father never learn about this little adventure, or Dick is in serious trouble…!"

"To be honest, dear, _you_ are the person I fear the most, not Bruce."

"Now, don't worry!" Thomas interrupted this conversation between husband and wife. "Dad will _never_ know about this. Not from me, anyway!"

The young man thought about his father, who once was Batman, and that had left everything to be a _family_ man. The more Thomas learned about his father's past, the more he acknowledged how hard it must have been for the old man… Abandon all the amazing things he had created, this whole _life_? How could he?

Of all people, his father should be the one to understand.

_"I'm sorry, dad, but I have to do it."_

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_My son, _

_You've chosen the hard way._

_The road you took, it frequently leads to suffering and pain, it will always find obstacles and you will constantly be tested. That's the life you have chosen, the life of men that have embraced a mission, life of solitude… _

_I wish I could tell you something inspiring, but I can't lie. After all, it's a crusade born from tragedy, a promise made in a moment of loss. Fear is your greatest ally, and you are now a creature of darkness, one that embraces the night and shadows… if not in your heart, at least as your refuge. _

_However, I think of it, of my days as the Knight, and this cannot escape me: so many good things in my life came from the choice I made… You, for example. Make no mistake, my son… I entered your life as Bruce Wayne, that's the father you've always known; but, truth is, you're the son of Batman. For it was the Batman that first loved your mother, and it was the Batman that she loved. _

_Indeed I've hoped that you would grow up to be a happy person, someone that could enjoy life in a way I never could, someone that could be whole, and not a mix of paradoxical identities. I hoped you would always be safe and protected, I hoped I wouldn't have to constantly worry about your life being in dangerous. I hoped…_

_But I never believed it._

_You care too much, you know too much, you are passionate… you are like your mother, you are like me. You are my son. You'll always choose the hard way, because you are one of the few people that can do it. And someone has to do it… _

_Now the legend is also a legacy. _

_I'm proud. _

**The End**

_or_

**The New Beginning**


End file.
